


Vetiver & Violet

by ScarlettSiren



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Aphrodisiacs, Blood, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Food Play, Forest Sex, Forests, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Injuries, Non-binary character, Other, Outdoor Sex, Unsafe Sex, but like just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: Hongjoong is an influencer known for his cottagecore lifestyle and fae aesthetics. Everything about his life surely seems idyllic: from his quaint, secluded  little cottage-style house at the edge of the forest and his sprawling gardens, to his comfortable work conditions and his flexible schedule. However, he is in for a rude awakening when he discovers that the fair folk are quite real…when he comes face to face with Seonghwa, an actual fae.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 33
Kudos: 338
Collections: All Hallows ATEEZ Exchange





	Vetiver & Violet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tagide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tagide/gifts).



> For Tagide, for the All Hallows Ateez Exchange! All of their prompts were really quite inspiring but I ended up going with this one because it called to me the most out of the three options. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> A small note: at the request of the prompter, Seonghwa is non-binary in this AU, and is referred to with they/them pronouns. Their genitals are not described, but it is implied they have a penis. Fair warning that they are misgendered in the form of casual/slang terms (like "man" and "guy") but this is corrected and apologized for in the narrative.

Hongjoong stretches and yawns over-dramatically as he sits up in bed, dismissing his fourth and final alarm. The afternoon sun glows golden through his curtains and he scowls a little as he drags himself out of bed and throws them open, squinting as the light pours in.

“Sorry guys, another late night.” He grumbles as he grabs the spray bottle from a nearby table and starts spritzing the plants throughout the room. There are dozens of them: potted on the floor, bolted into the walls and even hanging from the ceiling, their vines cascading down like elegant green waterfalls.

Admittedly, it had all started for _The Aesthetic,_ but actually, Hongjoong has grown quite fond of them. He’s even begun conversing with them, since the number of human interactions he manages to actually follow through with these days is close to none.

He’s considered getting a cat, but he likes leaving his windows open and he lives a little too close to the forest for it to be safe to have an outdoor feline friend. Plus, he worries it might eat his plants. So, he is sticking with just the greenery for the moment.

Once all of his plants are watered, he sets the spritzer down and grabs his phone before heading into the kitchen, immediately going for the coffeemaker.

He checks his Instagram as he nurses his coffee and makes himself some eggs, nearly letting them burn when he becomes a little too distracted by an argumentative comment-chain under one of his posts. It’s a bit of a cheeky selfie that he has no qualms about admitting was entirely for attention. The original comment is a lewd suggestion about just what he should be doing with his mouth, and the replies are filled with his followers white-knighting for him.

He should probably ban the original commenter, but really, he lives for the attention…and the engagement on his post is great for his stats.

Hongjoong eventually sets his phone aside to shovel down his eggs, but he just as quickly grabs his laptop to check his scheduled posts. He’s got one going up in a bit featuring some recipes he found in an old cookbook he picked up at the antique market over the weekend. He’s already made two of the recipes—lavender oil and violet syrup—and his plan today is to find somewhere nice to photograph them. He could just snap pics on his kitchen counter, but he wants the contrast of a natural green backdrop against the purple, and he lives on the edge of a forest, so he likes to take advantage when he can.

After finishing his food, Hongjoong throws on some clothes and grabs his leather messenger bag, another antique shop find. He puts some plastic bags down into the bottom of the bag before he loads the glass bottles of violet syrup and lavender oil into it. When his hand comes back a little sticky, he knows it was a good idea. It’s sealed well, but that doesn’t stop it from getting all over. He unceremoniously licks the purple substance from the crook of his thumb and hums. It’s sweet and flowery, but the flavor is a little more subtle now, compared to yesterday when he’d first made them.

He makes a pit stop in front of his mirror on his way out, running a hand through his hair. It’s a freshly-dyed blue, one of his better looks if he says so himself. It’s just a few shades brighter than the navy button-up he’s sporting, paired with pale gray skirted shorts and ankle boots sturdy enough for traipsing through the woods. He’s always been fashion-forward, and forward-thinking. He has no qualms about wearing _anything_ that looks good on him, and skirts are no exception. Ever since he was young, Hongjoong has always rejected the idea of assigning gender to what people wear. He used to get shit in school for painting his nails, but he never let it stop him. His mom had his back one hundred percent, and that’s all that ever really mattered to him.

Hongjoong snaps up his phone before heading out the door.

He takes a deep breath in the moment he’s outside, reveling in it for a few moments. The flowering plants lining his house are in bloom now that it’s spring, and they smell divine. He’d made the syrup and oil with his home-grown violet and lavender, and he usually uses the herbs from his garden in his cooking—when he bothers cooking, anyway—plus he makes tea with fresh ingredients as well. He knows he’s living a lot of people’s ideal: he lives in the middle of nowhere, has a cute little cottage all to himself and doesn’t have to work some shitty corporate job just to survive. He knows he’s lucky. He’s got a decent amount of revenue from his social media presence, but he makes all his real money selling his music. He’s still relatively a nobody, but he’s sold a lot of samples and a few tracks to minor entertainment companies, and his personal stuff does pretty well on soundcloud. 

Hongjoong takes the familiar dirt path into the woods, looking for some good spots for photos. Nothing calls to him right away, so he ventures further, until the path is less defined, becoming a trail of trodden grass with pockets worn down to the dirt every so many paces. The trees become thicker the deeper he goes, obscuring the afternoon sun. Not exactly ideal for photos.

Eventually, he hears running water, however, and gets an idea. He follows the sound to a babbling brook, which is crystal clear and lined in vetiver.

“Vetiver and violet.” Hongjoong says to himself, grinning at his own brilliance. He kneels and sets the bag down, digging out the jars. He sets them up on some rocks, bending a few of the shorter vetiver strands down around them. He takes a few dozen photos for safety, moving the jars around a little and repositioning things as well as changing his own angle.

By the time he’s done, he’s lost a lot of the light. He quickly packs up the jars and stands, trying to get his bearings. The path he’d followed to get there suddenly isn’t quite as visible; the grass all around him seems thick and verdant, not worn down by hikers at all.

He walks closer to the trees, trying to find the path, but he can’t see it anymore. He doesn’t remember wandering so far off of it…and it’s still light enough for him to see, so it doesn’t make any sense. He huffs and grabs his phone, figuring he can just GPS it back to his house—except he has absolutely no service, which isn’t entirely surprising.

Hongjoong stuffs his phone into his bag and huffs, taking his best guess on the direction he should be heading before stalking off into the trees.

He doesn’t know how long he’s walking, but the forest continues to darken as the sun begins to set, so his chances of finding his way back are disappearing by the minute. He’s about to take his phone back out at least for its flashlight when he suddenly reaches a clearing, the trees thinning out to make way for a vast meadow of thick, lush grass, laden with fog.

Hongjoong thinks he’s maybe reached his property line, but his house is nowhere to be seen.

He sighs in frustration and continues walking as he tries to dig his phone out of his bag. The fog gets thicker the further he wades through it, though, and he’s certain the light won’t do him any good. He suddenly forgets why his hand was even in his bag, however, as a wave of fatigue hits him like a freight train. He wobbles on his feet and clutches his head, slapping his cheek a little. Maybe he should have had two cups of coffee after the long night he’d pulled.

He only makes it a few more steps before another wave of fatigue crashes over him, so intense that his vision blurs. He makes a small noise almost involuntarily before halting and flopping down into the grass on his behind.

Hongjoong is starting to feel delirious…he’s so tired that it seems completely reasonable to simply rest right where he is. He sets his bag down and uses it as a pillow, lying back and deciding, surely, all he can do is take a nap there in that foggy meadow. After all, what else can he do? In that moment, despite how illogical it should seem, it feels his only choice.

Sleep claims him the moment he closes his eyes.

+++

Hongjoong isn’t sure how long he’s out for…but when he wakes, he still feels groggy, as though the darkness is still trying to drag him under. He finally manages to peel his eyes open, shaking his head a little to try to will the fog away.

He freezes, because he realizes he is not alone. 

There is someone looming over him.

This someone is unfamiliar, but beautiful in an ethereal sort of way, with an elegant face chiseled as though by the gods. High cheekbones compliment a strong jaw and plush lips, dark brows frame eyes black as ink, which stand out starkly against amethyst skin. Black hair falls in soft swoops over their forehead, but parts around a pair of massive black antlers, gleaming as though carved from ebony. Their lithe figure is clothed in otherworldly fabrics; woven as though from moss and leaves and starlight.

An ebony-clawed hand covers that plush mouth, obscuring a curious gasp.

“Oh. You awaken.”

Hongjoong startles. The stranger’s voice is gentle and melodic, but their appearance is nothing short of _terrifying._ He tries to get out a question, a statement— _anything—_ but he can’t form any real words. They’ve all been stolen from him in his shock, and he can only sputter nonsensically.

“Never encountered any of the fair folk before? I could have mistaken you for one yourself, with hair like that.” The stranger murmurs lightheartedly, reaching over and running a hand carefully through his blue fringe. Hongjoong realizes he’s being _teased._

“I—no, never.” Hongjoong coughs, trying to will down the lump in his throat as he finally finds his voice. “You…you’re a—you’re fae, then?”

“I am.” The other confirms. “And you, despite your appearance, are not. You are quite human.”

“I am.” Hongjoong parrots.

“Well then, human…will you give me your name?” The fae asks.

Hongjoong swallows, choosing his words carefully. “I can’t give you my name, but I’ll tell you what it is. It’s Hongjoong.”

The fae visibly shivers, eyelashes fluttering a little like a thrill has just shot up their spine. “Mm, well met, _Hongjoong.”_

There’s something to the way the fae says his name, like there’s some kind of magic to it, and Hongjoong finds himself trembling.

“Could I, uh, know your name, too?” He asks softly.

“I am Seonghwa.” The fae answers.

Hongjoong isn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe something more exotic or foreign? It’s unexpectedly _normal,_ and it takes him a moment to realize Seonghwa is awaiting his response.

“Ah, it’s, um. It’s a beautiful name.”

“You are kind.” Seonghwa tells him in a mildly placating tone. “So, then, Hongjoong…what are you doing wandering so far into the forest?”

“I usually take walks in the late afternoon.” Hongjoong explains, seeing no reason to lie. "I came down to the creek to take some photos so I followed the water instead of my normal route. I ended up here, but then I just felt so sleepy…”

Seonghwa hums, nodding in understanding. “You play a dangerous game, wandering into the woods all alone carrying violet syrup. You are lucky not to have been found by a fae of a…darker nature.”

“Oh. Does the syrup…do something?” Hongjoong asks, confused.

“Mm, it smells delectable. It led me straight to you.” Seonghwa tells him, drawing in a long breath through the nose. “Did you make that yourself?”

Hongjoong nods. “Y-yeah, it was a recipe I found in an old cookbook.”

“Violet syrup attracts certain fae folk, you know.” Seonghwa tells him. “Fae like me.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t know…”

“You didn’t _know_ or you didn’t _believe?”_ The fae clarifies.

“I didn’t know.” Hongjoong repeats carefully. “About the syrup, specifically. I’ve read about the fair folk. I mean, I can’t say I knew you were real, but, I’ve read a lot.”

“Have you now?” Seonghwa asks, appearing amused. “And just what have you read about my kind?”

“Um.” Hongjoong swallows. Not all of what he’s read is flattering. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

Seonghwa raises a perfect, black as pitch eyebrow, expectant.

“I have read that fae folk have to tell the truth.” He says quickly.

Seonghwa’s eyebrow drops, expression going neutral. “It is correct to say that we cannot tell a direct lie.”

“That’s—wow.” Hongjoong lets out a long breath.

“Hard to imagine?” Seonghwa guesses in a somewhat biting tone.

Hongjoong frowns. “I mean, I don’t make a habit of lying, but I guess I still can’t imagine not having the option.”

Seonghwa lets out a mirthless scoff, and Hongjoong cocks his head.

“I’m sensing some…resentment?”

“My kind are not overly fond of humans.” Seonghwa admits in a tone not unlike disgust. “Humans are false. They lie, they deceive…and they destroy.”

“What, like, your forests?” Hongjoong asks. “I live in a house not too far from here, it was built in a natural clearing on the forest’s edge. That’s actually…the reason I chose it.”

“Then you would be very different from most humans.” Seonghwa mutters darkly.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. A lot of humans are shitty…but honestly, it’s a really small percentage that chop down forests and pollute our water and ruin the air.” Hongjoong explains. “Most of us love nature, or you know, we’re at least ambivalent about it. Sounds like you’re just meeting all the wrong kinds of humans, man.”

Seonghwa’s face scrunches up at the form of address. “I am not a _man._ I would ask that you do not…refer to me as such.”

“Huh?” Hongjoong blinks in confusion. “Oh, right, I’m sorry, of course. Do fae have like, a different gender binary, or something?”

“We have gender. Mine is not on said binary.” Seonghwa explains. “I have always referred to myself in the neutral. This is common and accepted among the fae, though from my understanding, it is not as much so with humans…”

“Um, it’s a point of contention, yeah.” Hongjoong admits with an uneasy look. “Not for me, though. I’m sorry I assumed, I should be better about it, given—well, given I’ve tried to make it a point to be one of those _different_ humans.”

Seonghwa regards him for a long moment, considering. “I accept your apology.”

Hongjoong smiles. “I’m glad. I can’t say I really…wanted to get on your bad side.”

He laughs uncomfortably, but Seonghwa doesn’t respond right away—they just smile in a secret sort of way, leaving the laughter to hang there in the air awkwardly.

After a long moment, Hongjoong clears his throat and speaks again. “Do, ah…do you live here, in this forest?”

“I do. In the hidden realm, beyond the veil.” Seonghwa answers. “Not often do I venture from my own lands into the world of humans.”

“Oh? What made you—uh, what brought you here this time?” Hongjoong questions.

Seonghwa motions toward Hongjoong’s bag. “I was drawn here by the scent of the syrup.”

“Right! Of course, I’m such an idiot.” Hongjoong laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Did you, um…did you want it? You can have it.”

He digs into the bag, pulling out the two bottles and setting them in the grass. Seonghwa’s nostrils visibly flare when the scent hits them, stronger than before.

“What would you have in return?” Seonghwa asks cautiously.

“Huh? No, you can just…have it. It’s yours.” Hongjoong tells them.

“You aren’t very good at negotiating with the fae.” Seonghwa comments in amusement. “You are giving up your best bargaining chip.”

“Bargaining for what?” Hongjoong laughs, strained. “You’re not, like, trying to hurt me or something, right?”

“It is not my intention to bring harm to you, no.” Seonghwa answers carefully.

Hongjoong looks at the fae warily, then, dread cloying at the edges of his mind. “W-well, I mean, I’m kind of lost, so maybe you could…help me find my way home, in return?”

“Your syrup was already freely given.” Seonghwa reminds him, inclining their head. “If you wish to bargain, you’ll need to offer something else.”

“Oh. Um. Does it really work like that?” Hongjoong whispers.

“Mm. I am afraid so.” Seonghwa says in a pitying tone. “But, you have been so personable. Perhaps we could work something out.”

“Please.” Hongjoong responds.

“You simply wish to go home, do you not?” The fae asks. Hongjoong nods. “I suppose I could arrange that. May I take you?”

“Yes.” Hongjoong agrees, nodding again.

Seonghwa’s face splits into a horrifying smile, and only then does Hongjoong realize what he’s done.

“Wait—”

“Our deal is already struck, I’m afraid.” Seonghwa croons in a self-satisfied tone. “I am bound to it, just as you are.”

Hongjoong starts to panic, his breath seizing in his throat. “Please, please don’t take me away to the fae realm. That isn’t what I meant to agree to—”

Seonghwa clicks their tongue. “Oh, sweet human…I do not wish to take you _away.”_

Those words settle over Hongjoong as the double-meaning of the fae’s request becomes apparent to him. He feels his face go hot.

“Oh. _O-oh…”_

“You offer no further objections.” Seonghwa observes, and when Hongjoong looks away and blushes brighter, the fae grins. “How interesting.”

Hongjoong bristles slightly, his cheeks puffing up a little. “Look, I’m not—I’m not some prude, okay? I’ve fucked strangers in nightclub bathrooms and didn’t even get their names. What’s the difference between fucking the guy you met in a bar or fucking the guy you met in the forest?”

“But I am not a _guy.”_ Seonghwa reminds, tone shifting somewhat sarcastically over the word.

“Fair enough, that's true.” Hongjoong agrees. “I’m just saying, if that’s…if that’s the cost of safe passage home, I’ll pay it gladly. And I’ll probably enjoy it.”

Seonghwa regards him for a moment, head cocking to the side. Black hair swoops elegantly over strong, perfect brows, raised in curiosity. “You are…quite a strange human, Hongjoong.”

He shivers when he hears his name. Something about the way the fae says it…there’s a power to it. As though this creature has taken hold of some part of his soul, toying with it on a passing whim. Effortlessly.

“I—I’m not all that strange.” Hongjoong responds, somewhat breathless. “I mean—well, maybe I am. I guess I’m a little weird. I’ve never really fit in, or been what society wants or expects of me. So I guess that makes me a…strange human. Sorry.”

“Oh, no, do not apologize.” Seonghwa insists. “Never apologize for who you are, and most especially not for being _different._ I rather like you.”

“Y-you do?”

“Mm. You see, much like you, I am considered rather _different_ among my kind.” Seonghwa replies. “I have never met the expectations of my kind, and my siblings consider me…strange. So, perhaps I see that which I have in common with you.”

“Oh.” Hongjoong murmurs, his voice small. “Why—what makes you so different?”

“Hm, how shall I explain? I suppose…you see, I come from an ancient breed of fae folk. We feed on powerful emotions, my kind, the two most potent being agony and ecstasy.” Seonghwa says. “My kind used to be great seducers, luring humans in with their wiles and bewitching them with pleasures beyond their greatest imaginings. But over the years, the old ways were abandoned. Instead, my kind revels in torture…for agony provides us with the same sustenance, and much of my brethren are disgusted with the thought of granting humans such pleasures.”

Hongjoong’s hands tremble as he balls them into fists. “So you—you’re a dark fae?”

The corner of Seonghwa’s mouth twitches. “I am.”

“And your kind…you kill people. You drain them of their energy? Their life force?” Hongjoong asks, breathless.

“My kind does.” Seonghwa answers.

“But you’re _different.”_ Hongjoong spits back, almost a question but certainly an insult.

“I am.” Seonghwa responds. There is a long breath of a moment before the fae speaks again. “I do not revel in torture. It does not appeal to me.”

Hongjoong doesn’t appear comforted, however, scoffing. “S’that so?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa replies. “In the days of old we did not kill our prey. We feasted upon them for days, for weeks, for years. We created…equilibriums. Symbiotic relationships. Alliances. Relationships. That is my way.” 

“So you’re the fae equivalent of an old soul?” Hongjoong balks. “You wanna play with your food, like they did in the good old days.”

“I would like to _keep you.”_ Seonghwa corrects. “Not in my world. You may stay in the human realm. But I would like to see you again…as you, not as a husk of yourself. Will you allow me that, Hongjoong?”

He shivers again, hearing his name. It’s an involuntary reaction stitched into the very marrow of his bones, now.

“It doesn’t matter if I agree.” Hongjoong grits out. “You already have your bargain. You can do as you please.”

“It matters to _me.”_ Seonghwa tells him, meaningful. “I have made my motivations clear, now. So, I ask you again.”

Hongjoong swallows, willing his hands to stop shaking. “You’ll really bring me home, then? Unharmed?”

“I told you that it was not my intention to harm you. I meant it, as I mean all things.” Seonghwa replies. “I will return you to your home, alive, before the next sunrise. You have my word.”

Hongjoong stares for a long moment, considering. He’s warring with himself, and it must be plain upon his face, because Seonghwa cocks their head, brow drawn up in concern.

“Is there—”

“No, no, it’s just. Me.” Hongjoong mumbles, almost to himself. “I’m just. I must be crazy, right? Like, I’ve got to be a massive fucking idiot…for wanting this.”

Seonghwa blinks in surprise. “It is not foolish to know what one wants, to accept it and to seek it out. My kind has done exactly this since the dawn of civilization.”

Hongjoong lets out a long, slow breath. He’s dove headfirst into more questionable sexual arrangements than this, though his past partners, admittedly, never had antlers or skin that shimmers like amethyst or eyes black as the void of space—

He’s getting a little ahead of himself, so he reels it back in, shaking his head.

“I’m good. I’m just, um…I have no idea where to even begin with your clothes.” Hongjoong jokes, laughing softly at his attempt to break the awkward moment.

But Seonghwa grins, and there’s warmth in their expression as they bring a palm to their chest and swipe downward, willing the garments away with what Hongjoong can only assume is magic.

“Wow, that’s convenient.” Hongjoong quips, and Seonghwa gives him a conspiratorial smirk.

“Here, allow me.”

There are a solid few seconds where Hongjoong doesn’t really know what’s happening. He sees something black and long and vine-like slip down from Seonghwa’s antlers, he feels something sliding along the buttons of his shirt and the fly of his shorts, and then he’s bare, his clothing carefully deposited onto the grass a few paces away.

“Whuh—?” He manages dumbly before those vine-like tendrils are back, snaking along his arms and pulling them over his head. By the time he realizes what’s going on, they’ve wrapped around his forearms, twining them together like rope.

He hisses in pain as what feels like thorns dig into his skin. When he glances up, he can see the shadowy vines are indeed thorny, the points sharp enough on some to prick into his skin and draw the tiniest amount of blood.

Fear spikes through Hongjoong’s gut, because Seonghwa had said that their kind feeds on ecstasy _and_ agony. If they intend to torture him and pleasure him at the same time, there is little Hongjoong can do to stop them, as it stands.

But…Seonghwa had promised their intention was not to harm him. And Seonghwa could not lie.

The fae lifts a hand, fingers swaying elegantly. The ebony nails seem to retract until they are no longer than Hongjoong’s own, and only then does Seonghwa drop their hand between Hongjoong’s legs.

A flowery aroma hits him suddenly, and when he looks up, he sees Seonghwa has grabbed the bottle of lavender oil, drizzling it between his legs and coating their own fingers with it. When they press two fingers inside him, the slide is smooth, and the sharp prick of the thorns into his forearms distracts him from any pain from the stretch.

He lets out a low, drawn-out groan when he finally feels Seonghwa move. Heat crawls up his spine, burning away the fear which had been creeping into his thoughts. He rolls his hips down to meet them, needy and automatic, and Seonghwa regards him with a curious expression.

“You want more.” The fae says. It isn’t a question.

Hongjoong makes a sort of noncommittal sound which peters out into a broken moan. Seonghwa doesn’t stop moving their fingers, but keeps a steady, easy rhythm as they wait patiently for Hongjoong to find his voice again.

“I mean…y-you said your kind were sorta like succubi or incubi, right?” He manages, finally. “Guess I was expecting more…I don’t know. Theatrics?”

“Would you like that?” Seonghwa asks in an almost amused tone, cocking their head.

Hongjoong shrugs. “I’m in it, now…might as well commit.”

Seonghwa gives the barest of smiles, expression betraying some measure of surprise. “You truly are a peculiar human, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong chuckles breathlessly. “At this point, I’m inclined to agree.”

Seonghwa offers an indulgent grin, setting the bottle of lavender oil aside. There’s a breath of a moment where nothing seems to change—or at least, Hongjoong doesn’t _see_ Seonghwa do anything different—but then, something _does_ change. Things feel…different. He draws in a long breath, trying to figure out what’s going on. 

“How do you feel now, hm?” Seonghwa asks, tossing their chin toward Hongjoong’s bound arms.

He suddenly realizes the pain is gone. It feels almost numb, save for the warmth that seems to be coursing through his whole body, centered along those pin-prick wounds in his arms, which pulsate with heat whenever he moves.

When Hongjoong glances up again, there is a clear, viscous liquid dripping alongside the drying streaks of blood, seeming to come from the thorns themselves.

“W-what is that?”

“A powerful aphrodisiac.” Seonghwa explains. “It only affects the body, not the mind…but it is _quite_ potent.”

As if to demonstrate, Seonghwa lifts their left hand and drags their sharp claws down Hongjoong’s side with the barest amount of pressure. It’s not enough to break skin—it’s barely enough to even feel, or it should be—but regardless, Hongjoong is arching up and whining when the sensation sends heat rocketing through his gut, his cock pulsing needily. 

“F-fuck!” He curses, trembling when Seonghwa pulls their claws away and thumbs over his hip almost absently.

“You appear to be particularly susceptible. How interesting…” Seonghwa murmurs, watching him with those black eyes of theirs somehow sparkling with heat.

“Uhn…nnh—” Hongjoong’s tongue feels like putty, and he can’t get anything close to sensible words out as Seonghwa presses a third finger inside, continuing their rhythm as though nothing could distract them. He’s still grunting incoherently but Seonghwa seems to pay him little mind, appearing preoccupied with the other glass jar sitting next to them both.

“Mm, as I recall, this was gifted to me.” Seonghwa muses aloud, using their free hand to snap up the bottle of violet syrup. “Shall we have a taste?”

Seonghwa removes the cork, then tips the bottle over Hongjoong’s chest. The syrup drips along his pectorals, sticky and purple. It smells flowery and sugary and for a moment, it overwhelms his senses. He can only let out a soft whine as he watches Seonghwa dip down, eyeing him like he’s some kind of delicacy.

The scrape of Seonghwa’s tongue along his torso makes him jolt. When it slips over his nipple, hot and wet and sticky with syrup, he arches up and cries out so loudly he surely startles every woodland creature within a mile radius.

Seonghwa makes a dark, feral sound that rumbles deep in their chest. For a terrifying moment, they look almost animalistic, consumed by lust…but Hongjoong is well beyond fear, now. All he knows is _want._

After another breath, Seonghwa removes their fingers and Hongjoong whimpers, needy and impatient. Seonghwa grips his hips, leaning in closer and licking another dribble of syrup from his chest, growling again as they hold him steady.

Hongjoong feels he might be delirious but he’s sure he can feel Seonghwa pressing hot and thick inside him, then, filling him to the brim. He feels full to bursting, so close to that precipice, overwhelmed with heat and pleasure but unable to leap over the edge, as though Seonghwa will not allow it. Not just yet.

Seonghwa’s hips set a steady rhythm, much as their fingers had. It is manically constant, almost mechanical, as though Seonghwa has discovered the perfect cadence with which to continue to torture him, leaving him there on the razor’s edge with no sign of relief. It’s awful and glorious and too much and not enough all at once. It’s overwhelming.

Hongjoong doesn’t realize he’s crying until Seonghwa dips down and runs their tongue along his cheek, catching his tears. Hongjoong moans past a broken sob when finally, _finally,_ Seonghwa picks up their pace. He can’t help but to squirm, the thorns digging in deeper, but he can’t even feel it. Their grip doesn’t loosen, but Seonghwa seems to take pity on him, wrapping a hand around his neglected cock.

Hongjoong wails, jerking and trembling like he’s been struck by a livewire. Seonghwa is watching him intently, those black eyes raking over every inch of him, unblinking, as though they cannot bear to miss a single second of it.

“Tell me how you feel.” The fae rasps in a voice like honey and brimstone.

“G-good, s’good…” Hongjoong slurs mindlessly.

“Tell me what you need.” Seonghwa says.

“More, m-more, please, need it…f-fuck, Seonghwa—”

The fae’s expression is almost terrifying in its intensity as they crane their head to lick up some of the clear liquid dripping along Hongjoong’s arms, careful to avoid the tiny streaks of blood. Seonghwa leans down and kisses him, then, their tongues tangling together.

The warmth floods down his throat and Hongjoong feels as though he’s choking on it, like he’s gagging on Seonghwa’s tongue in the best way and he wants _more,_ wants to be used, _ruined,_ and he knows nothing will ever be enough.

When Seonghwa pulls back and licks their lips, eyelashes fluttering, Hongjoong whimpers.

He’s close. He’s so close it _hurts._

“Give me your pleasure, Hongjoong.” Seonghwa intones—goading and threatening all at once—and Hongjoong does.

He comes, harder than he thinks he ever has. He shakes and cries out and feels everything go hazy for a moment, as though all of the energy’s been drained from him. Above him, Seonghwa shivers and moans and fills him with heat.

For a long moment, the forest is filled only with the gentle chirping of crickets and the sounds of their harsh breaths.

“The sun will rise soon.” Seonghwa says eventually, their voice a soothing lullaby. There is a sparkling sort of glow to their skin, now, like a geode broken open to reveal a hidden cluster of raw amethyst. “Sleep, now, and I will return you home.”

Hongjoong mumbles something like a protest, but Seonghwa’s lips fall gently over his cheeks, his nose, the crown of his head…and then his eyes flutter closed and the darkness swallows him whole. 

When Hongjoong wakes, it is the early afternoon. He finds himself safely tucked into his own bed, stark naked and alone. He spots his clothes neatly folded on top of his dresser across the room. Every inch of him is aching in a pleasant sort of way, even the fading red marks along his forearms, and his skin still smells of violet and lavender.

He showers before falling back into bed, snapping up his phone. The photos of the syrup and oil still haven’t been posted or scheduled.

He somehow still feels tired, and decides to sleep a little longer before bothering with any of that.

+++

The following days pass in a blur. Hongjoong goes through a phase of denial, wondering if he just imagined the entire thing. He posts the photos of the violet syrup, storing what’s left of it with the wine and jars of herbs next to his spice rack. The lavender oil goes in his bathroom with his skincare routine.

It doesn’t stay there for long. It ends up on his nightstand one evening when he gets himself too wound up thinking about Seonghwa—whether he’d imagined them or truly experienced them—and he brings himself off in the tight circle of his own fingers, coated in the oil.

The scent is intoxicating and the memories it brings flooding over him are _vivid._ In his mind’s eye, Seonghwa looms over him in that grassy meadow, leaning down to lick a stream of violet syrup from his chest. 

If Hongjoong had imagined it, he has a _hell_ of a mind, he thinks.

He tries not to think much on it after that, however. He throws himself into working on new music in between coming up with some more simple concepts to photograph for his social media. A wave of inspiration hits him like a freight train and he has the promising beginnings of a dozen new tracks by the week’s end.

On Saturday, he glimpses that jar of violet syrup sitting on his counter and feels a pang of _something_ through his chest.

He decides to distract himself by baking. He picks something decently difficult—macarons—allowing himself to be completely consumed by the complex directions and techniques. He becomes so fully absorbed that he feels he can almost forget about it all, just for a little while.

His house smells _divine_ by the time he’s finished, and when he samples the fruits of his labor, he can’t help but to be a little proud.

He’s just finished snapping some photos of the macarons on one of his antique dishes to post on social media later when his doorbell rings.

Hongjoong nearly jumps out of his skin. He doesn’t exactly get _visitors,_ and solicitors never come out this far.

And yet, when he opens his front door, there is someone standing on his porch.

Not just someone.

The ‘someone’ appears human enough—with honeyed skin and jet black hair and warm brown eyes, lithe limbs wrapped up in perfectly-fitted black slacks and a white button-up—but the shape of their face, the curve of their cheekbones, the strong line of their jaw, the trim waist…

It is Seonghwa standing on his porch, there is no mistaking it.

“U-um, hi.” Hongjoong stammers awkwardly. “I wasn’t…really sure if I’d ever see you again.”

“We had an agreement.” Seonghwa reminds.

“Well, sure, but, uh—nevermind.” Hongjoong coughs. “What’s, um…what’s with the, uh, disguise?”

“I was uncertain if you might have company.” Seonghwa explains.

“Oh, no, just me.” Hongjoong tells them. 

Seonghwa hums in understanding, and when Hongjoong says nothing further, they raise an eyebrow expectantly. “May I come in?”

“Is this like—are you like a vampire? Can you not come in if I don’t invite you?” Hongjoong asks, defaulting to humor because he’s got no idea what to make of this at _all._

“No, Hongjoong. I am simply being polite.” Seonghwa answers, eyes full of mirth. “So then, may I?”

“Oh. Right, sure, yeah, come on in.” Hongjoong steps aside, ushering them in before closing the door behind them.

Seonghwa looks around with an open sort of curiosity, grinning when their eyes finally settle upon Hongjoong once more. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks!” Hongjoong nearly trips over himself on his way to the kitchen. “Do you, um, can I get you anything? Water? Tea? I made macarons, I think they came out okay, if you wanted some.”

Seonghwa’s smile goes tight, then, not reaching their eyes anymore. “That is very kind of you, but—”

“It’s not—you’re not gonna owe me anything, Seonghwa. Really.” Hongjoong huffs somewhat hysterically, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s not like if you eat it, you’re stuck here or something. Like, oops, you ate my baked goods, guess you’re moving into my guest bedroom! It doesn’t work like that for humans.”

“Perhaps not, but I am not accustomed to taking when nothing is given in return, and vice-versa.” Seonghwa explains.

“Would I sound disingenuous if I said the pleasure of your company is repayment enough?” Hongjoong asks with an awkward laugh.

“Yes, you would.” Seonghwa answers honestly, and Hongjoong’s face falls a little. But then they incline their head, smirking in amusement. “However, I would know better.”

Hongjoong beams. “Great! So, uh, can I get you some? The macarons?”

Seonghwa grins. “Sure. Perhaps just one.”

Hongjoong laughs as he grabs a small plate and drops three of the macarons onto them. He retrieves the pitcher of tea from the fridge and pours a glass, sliding both on the island toward Seonghwa. “Here, help yourself. No strings attached.”

Seonghwa picks up one of the macarons, regarding it with a hard look in their eyes. The confections are a pale purple, even the meringue. “What flavor are these, Hongjoong?”

The fae’s tone is either dangerous or suggestive, but Hongjoong cannot discern which.

“Um. Violet.” He admits in a small voice. He grabs the half-empty bottle of violet syrup from the collection of jars next to his spice rack, setting it next to the glass. When he opens it, he can see Seonghwa’s nostrils flare a little. “I still have some of this, too, for your tea.”

Seonghwa doesn’t say anything, just inclines their head in assent before popping the macaron into their mouth. Hongjoong adds the syrup to Seonghwa’s drink with trembling hands, and Seonghwa hums as they chew.

“Good?” Hongjoong asks hopefully, setting down the syrup and sealing it.

“Delightful.” Seonghwa says plainly, only after swallowing.

Hongjoong preens. “Good! I’m…glad you like them.”

“Am I to believe you did not make these expressly with my preferences in mind?” Seonghwa questions as they pick up another, eating it slowly, as though to savor the taste.

Hongjoong flushes. “U-um…I mean, I’ve wanted to make them for a while, really—”

“I could smell them baking.” Seonghwa tells him, swiping a crumb from the corner of their own lips. “I thought to come see you, and when the scent of sugar and violet filled the air, I wondered if you had wished for me to come.”

Hongjoong clears his throat. “Ah—I mean, I did. Want to see you again, yeah.”

“And I, you.” Seonghwa responds, motioning to the plate. “You should have the last one. Enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Oh trust me, there’s plenty.” Hongjoong replies, but he reaches over and pops it into his mouth anyway. As he licks the merengue from his lips, Seonghwa closes the space between them, their eyes trained on his mouth.

Hongjoong grunts in surprise, backing up until his ass hits the counter behind him.

“While your delightful confections were given without expectation of repayment, I _would_ repay you, Hongjoong.” Seonghwa says, their right hand coming down a bit too hard against the cabinets behind the human.

He doesn’t flinch, but he does notice the way the natural purple pallor of Seonghwa’s skin is beginning to show through the human glamour, the way the neatly-trimmed nails elongate and blacken next to his face, digging into the wood of his cabinets.

“O-oh—” He shivers when Seonghwa’s hand unsubtly settles against his fly, voice going a little breathless. “D-doesn’t that…it’s good for you, too, right?”

“Of course.” Seonghwa admits easily. “That is not my immediate motivation, however.”

Seonghwa’s hair twists together and then upward, lengthening and stretching out like shadows until it forms their antlers. The next time the fae blinks, their eyes are black as pitch. Hongjoong watches with a hazy sort of look, warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach…not simply for the fae’s touch, or the hungry look in Seonghwa’s eyes—but for the knowledge that Seonghwa cannot lie, and Seonghwa has just admitted to him that their motivations are not purely selfish.

Hongjoong feels foolish. Surely he must be, falling so willingly for a fae. But he _is_ falling, hard and fast, for this beautiful creature from another world.

“May I take you, Hongjoong?” Seonghwa asks, dipping their head to run their tongue up along the line of his throat and jaw.

Hongjoong nods, the breath punched out of him. “Y-yes, yes!”

He sees the power of his acquiescence as it settles over Seonghwa, sees how the fae shivers, sees with no room for denial just what effect it has, just what he gives—and gives freely—to this otherworldly creature who could shred him to bits without a second thought.

Seonghwa’s other hand comes up, cradling Hongjoong’s neck. Those razor-sharp nails settle dangerously against his skin, just above his pulse-point.

In one simple motion, the fae could dig them into his flesh, could rip open his throat like it was nothing. They could grip him tighter, strangle him, wait for him to pass out and then take him away to the fae realm, to anywhere Seonghwa wished—because that is the power Hongjoong has given them, freely. Foolishly. 

A breath later, Seonghwa grips his chin gently, turning him until they can capture his lips. They kiss him deeply, languid and gentle, tongue tasting of sugar and violet.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twt @VermillionVamp


End file.
